Water... water flowing over my face, my body... warm water...
Body pleasantly limp, sprawled on a chair...
Loins twitching with afterglow...
I look down at a face with the largest grin I've ever seen on man or beast... Lethal and endearing, looking up at me with pride and... possessiveness? No - I must be mistaken. I'm the possessive one. You're the possessed...
"I do think you've got healing powers, Saint Sebastian. I'm feeling a lot better..."
Shall I? Oh, why not. I'm in a generous mood, and you've had enough to put up with these past days.
"Get up..." I gesture, and when you're standing, pull you towards me, open my mouth, put it on your cock.
I imagine I'm being ordered up because you've had enough of being in the water, and want to exit now... demanding little shit, I think fondly. Well, as long as you're happy, relatively speaking... But suddenly your head is coming at my groin, and oh my god... I know I've bordered on arrogance about my own special skills, but god, Jim... you're a fucking master... oh fuck... my head falls back, and I groan loudly.
Well, at least I know it's appreciated. I can use this water in interesting ways...
I let the droplets rain on your sensitive head, fill my mouth with water and squeeze it out, use my tongue to drive you mad.
I love having this power over someone... I love having you as a quivering wreck at my mercy.
Oh, fuck... good technique, Jim... no one has ever - oh, fuck…
I moan helplessly, powerlessly, as I fall under the spell you weave with your mouth and a waterfall shower. Wherever we end up when all this is said and done... can we have a waterfall shower installed? Please??
I'm gasping and groaning so loudly, I'm afraid Hammad and the doomed doctor will be able to hear it from the staff quarters. Just a little light entertainment to send them off with...
"Oh god... Jim..." I pant, grasping at your shoulder and the wall, as my knees go weak.
I'm glad to see that you appreciate my efforts as much as I appreciate yours. I probably have less practice than you, but I am good at reading signals and doing just the right thing at just the right time. You're grasping for support - careful Tiger, I don't think I'll be able to hold you up. Your scrabbling hand finds the doorknob, the other one rests on my shoulder, but not too heavily.
Time for the grand finale... I take you deep, hold your balls in my fingers, move up and down...
“Oh... god..." I moan, as you clearly decide it's time to bring me to completion... because there's no way in hell I'm stopping now. I feel a spasm of pleasure move through my body, and my knees almost buckle - I manage to stay standing, half leaning against the wall for support as my body begins to shake uncontrollably. "Fuck... yessss..." I hear myself shout as though from a distance as I feel myself dissolving into maddening liquid ecstasy yesyesyes...
I'm disabling an elite soldier just with my mouth... and I'm not even talking. Your sounds are beautiful...
As you shudder your pleasure into my mouth, I recall again that I haven't had you tested... but you said you were always really careful... yeah but that was with women... still, you strike me as a careful person. Still - things can happen. I should have the doctor take a blood sample and send it with Hammad to be tested.
(What will you do if it isn't clear?)
Well, have him treated, of course.
(What if it can't be treated?)
Will you shut up?
(Will you get rid of him?)
No! He's still a good soldier.
(Could you keep your hands off him? Will you be able to be careful and not exchange blood and... other fluids?)
Will you *stop* being a damper on my fun!? I'll have him checked! I'll cross that bridge when I get to it!
You're panting and gripping the door handle with white knuckles. I delicately wipe my lips with a finger.
"I think I'm ready to leave, what about you?"
Oh god... you're so amazing...
"That was... amazing..."
I breathe raggedly as I'm trying to hold myself up. You're very quiet - I open my eyes to see you staring at me with a pensive look on your face.
"Leave? Oh... sure..." I pant. If I can keep from pitching forward and cracking my skull on the wet tiles... or yours.
But if I do, luckily there's a doctor on site who will fix me up... before I arrange a little accident for her.
Still. Bit unseemly. And we should try not to concuss ourselves in the shower, you've already got enough going on medically.
I turn off the water, and step out. I towel myself off first so I'll be dry when I help you.
You stand and lean against me, hobbling out of the shower. Then I dry you off, and look down at your discarded bathing trunks.
"Do you want to wear something else?" I say doubtfully. "You don't seem as overheated... I can bring you clothes, or help you to the bedroom."
“Yes, those things need a wash,” I say, disgusted. “Just shorts and a t-shirt, I guess. And then we should get the doctor to look at my foot, and tell me what we need to do in the coming days. And I want her to take a blood sample from you. I’m sure you’re healthy but it’s not my habit to exchange bodily fluids with someone who’s not been tested.
There you go, Tiger, that’s how crazy you make me,” I wink.
Blood sample? Oh...
Did you... wink at me??
I'm sure you must be joking, of course you are, what else could it be...
"Sure thing, if it would make you feel more comfortable. I was last tested a couple of months before I met you; I should have told you that... and I'm... not interested in being with anyone else if we're -" Careful, Moran...
"If this is-"
Gah... why is this so difficult?
"Ongoing," I say casually. Just the pinnacle of cool, aren't I...
But if it's not ongoing, just let me know so I can impale myself on the nearest stonefish...
'Ongoing'. Poor Tiger - I can see you sweat trying to work out how to describe our arrangement. Well, yeah, it's new for me too - I don't usually shag someone more than a few times at most, but I'm *definitely* not stopping this any time soon.
"Why did you have yourself tested?" I ask - any risky behaviour I should know about?
I shrug helplessly. You get a funny look on your face when I've talked about my past. It can't be jealousy, so what is it?
"Meaningless casual encounters? Seemed important to be careful..." when you hooked up as often I did, I don't add.
I don't approve of you having casual encounters of a sexual nature.
Picturing you with some bloke, your mouth round his cock -
I don't even know who he is!
"You should have used condoms, you idiot," I snap.
What. My mouth drops open. "I did use condoms!" I snap back. "And I'm guessing you had casual encounters with people, too... or were you practising monogamy?"
I look at you -
Have you lost your mind -
I can't stomp out because of my *bloody* foot.
"No, as a matter of fact, I did not have casual encounters. I had planned encounters, with people who had been checked. Some of them even survived it."
I glare a death-stare at you.
I stare back at you in disbelief. "What, am I in trouble for having hook-ups before I ever met you?? I told you I was always careful, and I've never had any issues... so why are you giving me shit for my past?"
I'm not giving you shit!
I'm just -
You started it!
Calm down, Moriarty.
"You're not in trouble. I'm just reminding you that survival is a rare treat."
"Survival is a rare treat?" I shake my head, flabbergasted. "Well, I truly appreciate the honour of being allowed to live. Maybe you could get me an 'I survived Moriarty' t-shirt for my birthday!" I say with a good dose of sarcastic cheer. "Sorry, make that for my one-year performance review, since what we have is strictly professional..." I mutter under my breath. Maybe I do have some residual suicidal urges, after all...
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything at all..” I glower at the wall, crossing my arms.
"Sebastian Moran. Stop acting like a sullen teenager. Look me in the eye and tell me what that meant."
Jesus. I do not want to get into this - now or ever. Fix it, soldier...
I heave a sigh. “Being grilled about my past... I took it personally, I guess. It’s fine, it’s just been a long bloody day, Jim. We’ve barely slept, and it’s been an ordeal for both of us. I didn’t mean anything by it...” God, let him believe that...
You're lying. You're pissed off about something.
You fancy me.
Big, bad, mean soldier.
You *want* me.
Oh you're *joking* -
I start laughing - I can't help it - this is *absurd* -
I watch with shock as you start to laugh...
What the fuck, Jim?
My eyes narrow at you. "What exactly are you laughing at?" I ask in a soft, dangerous voice.
“*Really*, Sebastian?! Oh you’re *superb*. Let me guess, in your previous involvements, you’d back off if anyone got too close, because you can’t have emotional involvement. Yet another reason to prefer men - women can get so *insistent* on *feelings*, can’t they?
But me - I’m a psychopath, incapable of emotions - so you fall for *me*. Perfect! Whatever it takes to avoid a proper relationship, right? You’re well under way to pretending to yourself that you’re *pining* for me, which fits you *perfectly*, because it means you’ll never have to deal with anyone loving you.
Oh poor Tiger... I don’t know what fucked you up like this, but it seems we’re perfectly matched...”
I feel my protective cover slowly unravelling as you talk - the one where I'm your loyal second in command, bodyguard extraordinaire, and sure we're fucking, and I'm flirtatious, but it doesn't mean anything to me...
Oh - no -
He saw - he saw -
Do something, soldier...
A cold wall slams down over my panic.
"Oh, your deduction thing? " I smirk. "Not bad, Boss... You're right, I do back off from emotional involvement, and yes, women expect too fucking much. And yeah, OK - I'm fucked up. You just described a shitload of SAS soldiers. But I don't know where you got 'pining' from - because I'm into you? You got me there... you're hot, and sex with you is amazing. Because I'm playful and affectionate for a killer? Guilty as charged... But you don't need to worry about me 'falling for you', Boss. I'm very clear on the parameters of our relationship..."
I raise an eyebrow at you. "Alright? I'll get you your clothes..."
I slip out the door, heart pounding. It takes all my discipline not to run for the boat and gun the engine until I reach the mainland.
FuckfuckFUCK, I don't know if you bought it, but I just had to get out of that room before I disintegrated onto the floor.
I stalk to the bedroom, grab a short-sleeved shirt, a pair of shorts, and pants, and return to the bathroom. I hand you your clothes and flash a lopsided grin at you, even though my insides feel completely shredded.
Oh come *off* it soldier - I hope you don’t act this poorly on any undercover missions.
Still, your reassurance was correct - I don’t need to worry about you falling for me. Either you convince yourself that you haven’t, or you don’t, but either way, it’s not my problem. I don’t want to have to deal with your emotions, and it seems like you’re perfectly happy to keep me far away from them, whilst keen to keep up the arrangement we have so far.
You come back and hand me some clothes.
“Your emotional state is for you to deal with,” I say, pulling on the pants. “You need any help, there’s a psychiatrist on call. You ever let it compromise your job, you’re in trouble. You don’t, and I won’t ask any more questions. Alright?”
I flash you the look I used to give superior officers when I was in basic training. Coolly professional, slightly bored, with a dash of arrogance. "Nothing will compromise my work, I can assure you of that. And I'll endeavour to feel nothing whenever possible."
I manage to not roll my eyes - barely.
While you dress, I stand at ease. As much as I would love to storm out, I have a fucking job to do - my heartless bastard of a boss needs my help hobbling to the sofa, and I have to do this while pretending I'm not harbouring a massive crush.
Someone just put me out of my misery... please...
“Oh for fuck’s sake - keep the English passive-aggressiveness out of your communications, please,” I sigh as I’m pulling on my t-shirt.
“If you have feelings - fine. I’m not saying you can’t. It’s human, allegedly.
But you’d never let your emotions get in the way of a mission. I’m your mission - you said so yourself - so no emotions around me, except for the usual awe at the orgasms I give you.
Anything else - you think your feelings, whatever they may be, might interfere with your mission, you’re on the phone to that psychiatrist and sort it out.
If I find out you’re compromising your own or my safety because you’re trying to be *tough*, or whatever other ideas you got about how you’re supposed to be, you’re in trouble.
Can you understand that without being a fucking surly teenager?”
Two sides of me are at war with each other - one side is absolutely horrified that I've fucked up, and wants me to snap to attention, and reassure you again that you have nothing to worry about, Sir.
The other side? Currently gritting my teeth, to keep from shouting at you or throwing Olympic-level snark in your direction.
And the part of me that has to decide is on a razor-thin ledge, trying to assess the best thing to do while overcome with surges of adrenaline and very unwelcome emotions.
"Of course I can... because this is not an issue like you seem to think it is," I hear myself saying pleasantly. The voice that I perfected in the army and Eton and fucking Lord Moran's house. The voice that got me through some insanely tense situations without punching anybody or smashing something to oblivion. The voice that signifies barely suppressed danger - only you're in no danger from me, so it can really only be turned against myself... or bottled up for an explosion of violence and aggression when the situation calls for it.
Oh so that's the direction we're going in? Fine. I'm going to need a drink or two or three to bottle up these lovely feelings then... to be unleashed at someone who will never see it coming...
"Also... I'm not a fifteen-year-old with hearts for eyes," I say darkly. "I'm ex-SAS and the only fucking son and heir of Lord Augustus Moran. Any notions of a romantic nature were beaten into oblivion a very long time ago... and that's the end of that. Shall I help you to the sofa, Boss? I could use a stiff drink, how about you?"
There's something there... Yeah.
Lord Augustus Moran beating any notions of a romantic nature out of you. That's at the core of your problems, there.
But I'm not going to dig deeper into that. One, you're one wrong move away from exploding. Two, it's none of my fucking business. You can deal with it.
I know I'm irresistible, but I hadn't quite expected this. It's not entirely unreasonable though... I did come down on you quite hard, making sure that all thought of anyone but me was blasted away. It's easy for such a fascination to grow into infatuation... and, like I said, in a twisted way, in your twisted mind, I'm safe. Safe because you know I could never love you. Because you're absolutely terrified of being loved...
Well, no worries there, Tiger.
"Yeah, I could do with a drink, I guess... And text that doctor to come over in a bit."
"You bet," I say cheerily, as I help you hobble back to the sofa. Killing someone, even someone as innocuous as a doctor with designs on a hot bodyguard and unfortunately poor judgement, will be satisfying on some level. And I definitely need to visit the gym and work out some of this aggression before I react to something you say, and things go fucking pear-shaped.
Once you're set up on the sofa, I send a text to the doctor, then slip off to the kitchen and pour a couple of whiskies.
I neck one and pour another. And another.
Hmm. Something keeps rubbing at me - the look on your face when I've talked about my sexual history, and your little reaction just now... then how you reacted to your theory of the doctor wanting to take me away - issuing her death sentence. Not that you didn't make valid points as a criminal mastermind, you absolutely did - but there was something about the tone of these incidents that struck me as not 100% professional.
Which means -
Oh, you fucker... So you're feeling possessive and jealous, but I'm the one with the problem...??
Right... Well, you're the Boss, you little shit. So you get to make the rules...
But somehow knowing this... makes me feel a little less like drowning myself or pummelling someone to death.
A smile slowly spreads across my face. I wonder what will happen when someone flirts with me in front of you... it's as inevitable as the dawn and I for one can't fucking wait. I chuckle to myself, pour myself another whisky, and bring out the drinks to you.
"Salut," I say smartly, and clink your glass before pouring the fiery nectar down my throat.
"A stiff drink, he says... is there anything left in that bottle?"
Still, you look not affected at all. Makes sense - you're very used to it. I'll have to keep an eye on that - it's all well and good becoming an alcoholic when you're chucked out of the army, but you're now working for me and I want you on top form. Still, if it helps you deal with feelings, you pour that stuff inside you. I think that's why Father James used to do it as well...
Soon the doctor turns up, saving us from an unexpectedly awkward silence. She looks at my foot and murmurs appreciatively. "It's healing well, Mr Richards... it's a good thing we got to it so soon. How have you been feeling?"
"Alright - it hurt like a bastard, but it's less now. And I haven't been... confused since I woke up in the night."
"That is good," she says. "Hallucinations are not uncommon after being stung by a stonefish, and the fact that you didn't take painkillers can't have helped. The intensity of the pain can increase the force of the delusions. Now the pain has gone down, you should not suffer from them any more - but do let me know if you do."
She gets out some ointment. "You should keep the sting uncovered and your foot up as much as possible as the wound heals. When you walk on it, make sure you keep it covered and clean. Rub the rest of your foot with this ointment to improve the healing of the skin. Do contact me if anything bothers you or changes, but it should heal nicely from now on."
"Thank you," I say. "Could you take a blood sample from Sebastian to be tested for any venereal diseases?"
"Certainly," she replies, and gets some tubes from her bag, takes your blood, labels them. That will have to do.
"Sebastian?" I gesture at the doctor.
Oh, it's time, is it...
"Hey, doc - there's something I'd like you to look at while you're here, if you don't mind? It's so awkward... " I smile sheepishly. "But Jim insists I should have it taken care of immediately. And well, he's the boss, as you know..." I wink at you, and you roll your eyes.
Her lips twitch. "Of course, I'll have a look." She looks at me expectantly. What's that look in her eye - intrigue? Just what do you think I'm going to show you, my good lady?
I glance at the overhead light. "It's a bit dim in here to see it... it's probably not a big issue at all, but you know - when it comes to health and safety, you can't be too careful. I'm just going to bring this lamp over for some extra light..." I hop up from the sofa, unplug a floor lamp, and carry it over.
"I can examine you in your bedroom, if you prefer..." she says coolly.
I go still and stare at you, open-mouthed. "Jim!" I shout. "What's wrong?"
The doctor turns to look at you, I flip the lamp in the air, and slam the base into the back of her skull.
She crumples to the ground with a thump, eyes staring lifelessly.
"Nothing personal..." I say to her, and twirl the lamp like a spear. "Done," I say to you. "So. If you wanted it to look like an accident, I'd smash her head on a rock so it looked like she slipped on the beach. But assuming you don't care, I can rent a boat, weigh down the body and dump it in the ocean tonight. Unless you have another idea?"
Oh wow Tiger.
That was - efficient, elegant, quick, bloodless.
There’s something special about seeing someone kill for the first time. Like seeing someone come for the first time, or sleep.
I like that you didn’t try to show off, and didn’t hesitate. You just - acted. You don’t look excited or reluctant or averse. You ask what I want done with the body in a matter-of-fact way.
Yes. You are what you say you are. You’re a killer. And you’re damn good at it. I can’t wait to see more. Preferably more challenging work... I’m picturing you killing a room full of men Kill Bill style...
“Send Hammad back to the other island and have him send off the blood samples to a hospital to be checked. I believe he said there is a speedboat for our use at the dock - we haven’t even walked around that way yet... so you won’t have to rent a boat.
Well done, Tiger. I like your style.”
What is this look in your eye now? You look pleased... impressed, even.
Holy shit... did I actually manage to impress my seemingly unimpressible Boss..?
Well, I guess I did impress you with fighting and fucking...
but this is more purely professional, and I have a feeling you may have been starting to doubt my suitability as your second based on the last clusterfuck of a conversation...
so this feels fucking satisfying...
I keep myself from reacting to your last statement. I'm cooler than cool as I nod, pick up my pack of fags and wander off to find Hammad in the staff quarters.
He takes the blood samples as instructed, and heads off on the boat without inquiring about the doctor. Jim will like that.
As I stand on the beach watching Hammad leave, with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I hear the echo of your words to me.
Well done, Tiger...
I like your style...
I try to get up, leaning on the back of the sofa, and stand on the hurt foot. It seems I can, as long as I avoid any pressure on the wound. But if I curve my foot I can hobble around. Thank fuck. I hate being dependent.
You raise your eyebrows as you come in, but don’t challenge me, instead pick up the doctor and disappear with her. I check the floor - no blood or other traces. And with the bloodlust of the marine fauna around here, there won’t be much left of her body soon either.
I safely stow the body in a storage room I find, until I can move it to the boat under cover of darkness. When I return, you're back on the sofa.
"Package is the storage room. I'll head out when it's dark. Hungry, Boss? I could eat a horse..."
What is it about killing that gives me the appetite of a giant?
Probably best to leave it till later, yes. It’s quiet around here but it would be just my luck if some neighbour in a yacht would decide to come and say hi to you once you’re out at sea.
“I’m not particularly hungry but I’ll have something. And then I could do with some sleep in a horizontal position without drugs and without having my fucking foot in a pot.”
"Fair enough! I'll find something light for you, back in a few..."
I head towards the kitchen and I'm tempted to turn and say 'I'm glad you're feeling better'... because I am, but strangely now I can't say something even that remotely basic without wondering if you're reading something into it - and yeah, all right - something is there... whatever.
The whole 'making me yours' thing messed with my head, so this feels a bit intense for a crush. But that's all it is - an all-consuming crush where I can't think of anything but you. It happens!!
I return to the kitchen, shoving aside such thoughts and focusing on what to prepare. Everything is so neatly labelled - I choose a chicken biryani dish for you, and a curried coconut chicken for me. I also find a lovely dessert of banana fritters and sticky coconut rice, which I warm in the oven as we eat.
"Lunch is served," I announce, bringing you a tray with a beer. "Save room for dessert - all this will definitely make you fall asleep..."
And if you're sleeping, maybe I can catch a few winks, too. I'll need to be alert for disposal detail tonight.
I’m surprisingly hungry, I realize when I smell the food. A beer? Oh, why not. I’m on holiday. The first one in my life.
I eat the very tasty chicken, watching you devour your dish. You seem a bit wary of saying anything, which suits me fine - one of the things I hate most about people is their constant need to fill silence with vapid conversation. I’m sure if I need to know something, you’ll tell me, and if I want to know anything, I will ask. Until such times, I very much prefer silence.
As you bring out the dessert I’m yawning, and the sticky sweetness makes me even sleepier.
We hobble to the bedroom, you supporting me still being easier than me trying to walk on my own, and you pile two pillows on the bed for me to rest my lower leg on.
I pull off my t-shirt, then look at you looking uncertain, standing next to the bed.
“You coming for some sleep as well?”
I focus on breathing steadily as you ask if I'm going to have a lie-down. I had been considering during lunch if I should perhaps take another bedroom now that the cat's out of the bag about my little crush... which in this scenario would be seen as tantamount to coming down with a case of some pox or another. Yeah, I tried to cover it up with bravado, but you're not fucking stupid... quite the opposite.
But knowing what you know, you're inviting me to... join you for a nap?
Saying nothing, I reach back over my shoulder, and pull my t-shirt forward over my head, then throw it on a chair. Trying with every fibre of my being not to read into it, not to get excited, not to think this is something when it's fucking nothing. It's just safer for you when I'm next to you... that's all.
Carefully I get into bed, not looking at you, and making sure I'm not too close.
My heart is racing... how the fuck am I going to be able to sleep next to you... ever again??
You're tense as a bowstring. Well, that's your problem. I will just continue to be the same way, and if you can't deal with it, you're going to have to get creative.
"Sebastian. Relax, will you? I'm not going to treat you any different. I understand it can be disconcerting for you to have someone - expose you like that, but you'll have to get used to that. You don't get a private life any more - your life is mine. I work on information, so I get it any way I can. I could have not told you what I saw, but I want to be able to share my information openly with you, because you need to know what I know in order to work most efficiently.
To me, there's no difference between one form of information and another. I don't know shame, privacy, remorse, pity, guilt - they're emotional values attached to information. I remove the labels, just deal with the cold hard facts.
I know this makes people uncomfortable."
If we were in a normal situation I'd have kicked you out and told you to come back when you had sorted yourself out. But that would leave me alone and very vulnerable. So I need to kind of make you see my point of view without alienating you too much.
I can do friendly and personable when playing a character, but I don't want to have to play a character with you. So I have to somehow make the Moriarty experience more palatable. Which is *not* my forte. I've worked for many years making the Moriarty experience as unpleasant as possible. Ugh. When I am back at full strength...
"I don't know what I can say to make you less uncomfortable - making people comfortable is not really what I do. But - as far as I'm concerned you haven't changed; I just know more about you. You're still my full army, you're still fucking hot, and you're still welcome to be my second. Anything you need to do for – self-care, or whatever - I don't know –
If you'd feel more comfortable sleeping elsewhere, or not fucking, or whatever, you'll need to tell me. I'm not good at assessing people's emotional needs, it's a bit of a blank space, but if you let me know - again, information - we can see how we can accommodate."
There. Fucking thoughtful or what.
Your words jar me from my anxious state. You didn't ask me to sleep in another bedroom, so I'm not. You didn't take fucking off the table, so I'm sure as hell not going to. All told, you're being quite considerate and accommodating, for you.
I'm not about to fuck up what I have with you over a silly little crush.
I put my hands behind my head, and stare up at the ceiling. "Appreciated, Jim. But you don't need to trouble yourself about this... nothing's getting the way of doing the job I'm here to do. Nothing will get in the way or be an issue for you. I was a career soldier - I know how to put the mission first, and put aside everything else. So I'm good with sleeping arrangements if you are. And as for sex..." I look over at you and eye you appreciatively. "Wild horses couldn’t stop me. I'm not about to say no to the most amazing fuck ever..." A sly smile plays on my lips. "Which you know I say with the greatest respect, Boss... from one good lay to another... I have never met your equal, and I don’t think it exists. So believe me when I say... I’m happy to be exactly where I am.”
And I realize this to be true. On a very deep level, there's nowhere else I would want to be than working for you. And for the first time since leaving the Regiment, something loosens in my chest and I can breathe again.
I have my mission, amazing sex, and I know my place in the world. What else could a soldier want or need, anyway?
Well, that's sorted then. And you think I'm the best fuck ever. Which strokes my ego not insignificantly. I have never had anyone comment on my sexual prowess. Not honestly, not in a more or less equal relationship - I mean, we don't have an equal relationship, of course not, but you are not sucking up to me. You wouldn't do that.
I realize I appreciate having someone around who tells me what's what - it's very rare. Even my closest people are very careful about what they say. You don't seem to give a fuck about personal safety... which might not be very smart, but then you do seem smart enough to have stayed alive up to now. I hope you'll stay alive with me as well... I like having you around.
I'm drifting. It's really nice to have a foot that doesn't hurt...
I stay awake so I can stare at you, unobserved by you.
Your breathing is comforting to listen to.
I feel a pang of pain to look at you and not touch you.
Your face is restful in sleep.
I continue to stare at you longingly until my eyelids begin to flutter, and then...